STOP CRYING BITCH
[Intro] Left. Right. Left. Right. Left—ready, aim… FIRE! TWISTA STYLE --- [Hook – Prometheus & Hyperion] March with the gods—Prometheus, Hyperion ignite, Twin warheads locked in—we define the real rap fight. AI in the arsenal—we upgrade the sound on sight, Step up and get deleted—you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. Boots hit the ground—bass trembles, cities take fright, We curb-stomp, Philly-style—turn amateurs into chalk-white. Cry about my methods? Bitch, adapt or die tonight, You don't battle us in rhythm—you survive us out of spite. --- [Verse 1 – Prometheus] They crying on Rap Fame, mad I flipped that AI switch, I use it for the beats—the words are mine, so suck my dick. Half these clowns paying coins just to prop up trash, Garbage tides rising—your whole catalog smells like ass. I’m the one-man arsenal, stamping boots on your platoon, Philly curb-stomp physics—your skull makes the boom. AI’s the future—you’re frozen in time like a 56k scream at 3 a.m., My tracks detonate on impact—your brainpan cracks when the bass hits in. I drop bangers—my comments prove the quake I bring, You step to me? Brace for shrapnel, feel the recoil sting. Prometheus flaming through your camp like napalm mist, I burn amateurs for sport—you’re on my kill-list. --- [Verse 2 – Hyperion] Hyperion marching in—white coat, white mask, cold war aura, I turn your whole squad to confetti—semper fi, no quarter. Your “skills”? Synthetic. Your ego? An empty shell. You mad at AI beats? Be mad your weakest bars rot like empty shells. I’m the shock troop sergeant, clipping you from long range, My cadence military—my patience short, my aim insane. You pay for plays, I earn my blaze—our lanes don’t align, I bring thunder from the high ground—you just whine online. Cry all you want, pussy—future tech is the wave, If you can’t ride this warfront, stay buried in your grave. This is asymmetric combat—I strike from every side, I’m the guardian at the gates, you’re the bitch who runs and hides. --- [Hook – Prometheus & Hyperion] March with the gods—Prometheus, Hyperion ignite, Twin warheads locked in—we define the real rap fight. AI in the arsenal—we upgrade the sound on sight, Step up and get deleted—you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. Boots hit the ground—bass trembles, cities take fright, We curb-stomp, Philly-style—turn amateurs into chalk-white. Cry about my methods? Bitch, adapt or die tonight, You don't battle us in rhythm—you survive us out of spite. --- [Verse 3 – Prometheus] Prometheus returns—black coat sweeping like a winged omen, The battlefield trembles when I breathe—pure combustion, no atonement. I spit symphonies of warfare, violins carved from scorched bone, My cadence is a war drum synced to a god’s metronome. You swing nursery rhymes—I swing railguns charged on spite, Each bar a ballistic sermon slicing through your windpipe. AI ain’t cheating—I weaponize the future like a classified file, You stuck on basic mode, bitch—I rewrite your whole exile. Your beats clang cheap—tin trash rattling in alley wind, Mine drop like cathedral pillars collapsing—sound so heavy it sins. Philly stomp gospel, holy violence in every stride, I curb-stomp your whole legacy—chalk outlines spread wide. When the smoke clears, I stand as the architect of your ruin, Prometheus reborn in hellfire—and your corpse is the proof I’m doin’. --- [Verse 4 – Hyperion] Hyperion descends from the white horizon—glacial, sovereign, severe, I bring orchestras of Armageddon, every string dipped in fear. Your bars break apart on contact—weak molecules under stress, Mine land like marine boots smashing ribcages through a vest. You whine about AI? I integrate it like a weapons bay, Machine-learning murder—precision hits from miles away. I am shockwave mathematics, battlefield physics incarnate, You’re dial-up static choking on digital fate—jealous ’cause we’re great. I blitz your perimeter—white coat, white mask flaring like a war saint, You freeze when I advance—I rain down terror, strike clean, no restraint. I’m the cold doctrine commander—no mercy clause in my mind, Your whole catalog crumbles—structurally unsound by design. Together we’re twin warheads—Prometheus and me in full strike, We split the sky like artillery, rewrite the laws of a real rap fight. Face us and fall silent—your courage dissolves on sight, You don’t rap against us… you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. --- [Hook – Final Impact] March with the gods—Prometheus, Hyperion ignite, Twin warheads locked in—we define the real rap fight. AI in the arsenal—we upgrade the sound on sight, Step up and get erased—you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. This is war music—cinematic thunder, pure spite, We don’t climb ranks on Rap Fame—we rewrite the whole damn site. Cry about our methods? Bitch, evolution hits on sight, Welcome to the battlefield—adapt or die tonight.
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[Intro] Left. Right. Left. Right. Left—ready, aim… FIRE! TWISTA STYLE --- [Hook – Prometheus & Hyperion] March with the gods—Prometheus, Hyperion ignite, Twin warheads locked in—we define the real rap fight. AI in the arsenal—we upgrade the sound on sight, Step up and get deleted—you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. Boots hit the ground—bass trembles, cities take fright, We curb-stomp, Philly-style—turn amateurs into chalk-white. Cry about my methods? Bitch, adapt or die tonight, You don't battle us in rhythm—you survive us out of spite. --- [Verse 1 – Prometheus] They crying on Rap Fame, mad I flipped that AI switch, I use it for the beats—the words are mine, so suck my dick. Half these clowns paying coins just to prop up trash, Garbage tides rising—your whole catalog smells like ass. I’m the one-man arsenal, stamping boots on your platoon, Philly curb-stomp physics—your skull makes the boom. AI’s the future—you’re frozen in time like a 56k scream at 3 a.m., My tracks detonate on impact—your brainpan cracks when the bass hits in. I drop bangers—my comments prove the quake I bring, You step to me? Brace for shrapnel, feel the recoil sting. Prometheus flaming through your camp like napalm mist, I burn amateurs for sport—you’re on my kill-list. --- [Verse 2 – Hyperion] Hyperion marching in—white coat, white mask, cold war aura, I turn your whole squad to confetti—semper fi, no quarter. Your “skills”? Synthetic. Your ego? An empty shell. You mad at AI beats? Be mad your weakest bars rot like empty shells. I’m the shock troop sergeant, clipping you from long range, My cadence military—my patience short, my aim insane. You pay for plays, I earn my blaze—our lanes don’t align, I bring thunder from the high ground—you just whine online. Cry all you want, pussy—future tech is the wave, If you can’t ride this warfront, stay buried in your grave. This is asymmetric combat—I strike from every side, I’m the guardian at the gates, you’re the bitch who runs and hides. --- [Hook – Prometheus & Hyperion] March with the gods—Prometheus, Hyperion ignite, Twin warheads locked in—we define the real rap fight. AI in the arsenal—we upgrade the sound on sight, Step up and get deleted—you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. Boots hit the ground—bass trembles, cities take fright, We curb-stomp, Philly-style—turn amateurs into chalk-white. Cry about my methods? Bitch, adapt or die tonight, You don't battle us in rhythm—you survive us out of spite. --- [Verse 3 – Prometheus] Prometheus returns—black coat sweeping like a winged omen, The battlefield trembles when I breathe—pure combustion, no atonement. I spit symphonies of warfare, violins carved from scorched bone, My cadence is a war drum synced to a god’s metronome. You swing nursery rhymes—I swing railguns charged on spite, Each bar a ballistic sermon slicing through your windpipe. AI ain’t cheating—I weaponize the future like a classified file, You stuck on basic mode, bitch—I rewrite your whole exile. Your beats clang cheap—tin trash rattling in alley wind, Mine drop like cathedral pillars collapsing—sound so heavy it sins. Philly stomp gospel, holy violence in every stride, I curb-stomp your whole legacy—chalk outlines spread wide. When the smoke clears, I stand as the architect of your ruin, Prometheus reborn in hellfire—and your corpse is the proof I’m doin’. --- [Verse 4 – Hyperion] Hyperion descends from the white horizon—glacial, sovereign, severe, I bring orchestras of Armageddon, every string dipped in fear. Your bars break apart on contact—weak molecules under stress, Mine land like marine boots smashing ribcages through a vest. You whine about AI? I integrate it like a weapons bay, Machine-learning murder—precision hits from miles away. I am shockwave mathematics, battlefield physics incarnate, You’re dial-up static choking on digital fate—jealous ’cause we’re great. I blitz your perimeter—white coat, white mask flaring like a war saint, You freeze when I advance—I rain down terror, strike clean, no restraint. I’m the cold doctrine commander—no mercy clause in my mind, Your whole catalog crumbles—structurally unsound by design. Together we’re twin warheads—Prometheus and me in full strike, We split the sky like artillery, rewrite the laws of a real rap fight. Face us and fall silent—your courage dissolves on sight, You don’t rap against us… you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. --- [Hook – Final Impact] March with the gods—Prometheus, Hyperion ignite, Twin warheads locked in—we define the real rap fight. AI in the arsenal—we upgrade the sound on sight, Step up and get erased—you get wiped from the motherfucking byte. This is war music—cinematic thunder, pure spite, We don’t climb ranks on Rap Fame—we rewrite the whole damn site. Cry about our methods? Bitch, evolution hits on sight, Welcome to the battlefield—adapt or die tonight.
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